ner day, 'n I ain't as strong
as I used to be. Seemed as if I never would git here."

"Oh, no," said John, as he established her before the glowing grate of
the Franklin stove in the bank parlor, "not at all. Mr. Harum has not
come in himself yet. Shall you mind if I excuse myself a moment while
you make yourself as comfortable as possible?" She did not apparently
hear him. She was trembling from head to foot with cold and fatigue and
nervous excitement. Her dress was soaked to the knees, and as she sat
down and put up her feet to the fire John saw a bit of a thin cotton
stocking and her deplorable shoes, almost in a state of pulp. A
snow-obliterated path led from the back door of the office to David's
house, and John snatched his hat and started for it on a run. As he
stamped off some of the snow on the veranda the door was opened for him
by Mrs. Bixbee. "Lord sakes!" she exclaimed. "What on earth be you
cavortin' 'round for such a mornin' 's this without no overcoat, an' on
a dead run? What's the matter?"

"Nothing serious," he answered, "but I'm in a great hurry. Old Mrs.
Cullom has walked up from her house to the office, and she is wet
through and almost perished. I thought you'd send her some dry shoes and
stockings, and an old shawl or blanket to keep her wet skirt off her
knees, and a drop of whisky or something. She's all of a tremble, and
I'm afraid she will have a chill."

"Certain! certain!" said the kind creature, and she bustled out of the
room, returning in a minute or two with an armful of comforts. "There's
a pair of bedroom slips lined with lamb's wool, an' a pair of woolen
stockin's, an' a blanket shawl. This here petticut, 't ain't what ye'd
call bran' new, but it's warm and comf'table, an' I don't believe she's
got much of anythin' on 'ceptin' her dress, an' I'll git ye the whisky,
but"--here she looked deprecatingly at John--"it ain't gen'ally known 't
we keep the stuff in the house. I don't know as it's right, but though
David don't hardly ever touch it he will have it in the house."

"Oh," said John, laughing, "you may trust my discretion, and we'll swear
Mrs. Cullom to secrecy."

"Wa'al, all right," said Mrs. Bixbee, joining in the laugh as she
brought the bottle; "jest a minute till I make a passel of the things to
keep the snow out. There, now, I guess you're fixed, an' you kin hurry
back 'fore she ketches a chill."

"Thanks very much," said John as he started away. "I have something to